


Two Shadows

by Arura



Category: Injury and Healing - Fandom, Reader/McCree Romance, overwatch
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Adult Language, Blood and Injury, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-02-17 14:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13078707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arura/pseuds/Arura
Summary: Pre-Mission Report: Infiltrator Commander (Y/N) and the team had been assigned a retrieval mission of sensitive information and to prevent the interference of the Talon agency; with Commander (Y/N)'s leadership in technical and tactical extraction, plus the iron will of the Commander's trusted teammates.The mission is simple: Get in, Get the payload, Get out. Good luck.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: The chapter you are about to read has mild violence along with the description of worsening wounds and (Spoiler) foreign objects being shoved under the skin. It's mentioned briefly but thought to give you a heads up.

Chapter One: Close Call

This was supposed to be a touch and go mission; something like "Be home in time for dinner" sort of thing. However, with the interference of the organization of Talon, the mission became dramatically more complicated. The said task was to infiltrate and grab a special chip that had supposedly an omnic-inspired set of blueprints to a rather nasty weapon that could level a city in seconds from the ground up. Overwatch had sent a stealth team to retrieve this chip and have the records brought to HQ for processing. You and your group was such a team, you studied the ways of Captain Afari, even to take some notes from the sly ninja Genji, surely you were ready for this. To strike at a distance then befuddle up close, that was your signature, as well as your team's. 

Obtaining the chip was the easy part. Scouting a building, making sure the timing and various distractions were in place, then bam, it should have been a clean sweep. The chip was in your hand when you heard a little chuckle near your ear. In a brief flash of purple and white, Sombra came into view. Damn it. Before you knew it, you were staring down the barrel of her handgun. 

"Bad luck, Mija," smirked the hacker, "I'll be taking that." Sombra offered her palm with a malicious glint in her eye.

You glowered, but you also knew it entertained the Talon member greatly. Suddenly rapid gunshots were heard outside of the computer lab, which made your skin crawl; it only meant one thing, Reaper was there and he was likely picking off your team members one by one. Your jaw clenched in anxious anger and gripped at the microchip's container stubbornly.  
Sombra instantly read what was on your face and tsk-ed you for your valiant attempt to being defiant, "Look, I don't wanna kill you, but if I must, I must," she sounded bored as her ombre manicured fingertip rested on the trigger.

Fuck it.

Taking fate into your own hands, you lunge out of the way, Sombra reacted by pulling the trigger, only to graze the crown of your forehead. You scrambled toward a window and boldly charged the glass shielding your head as you lept. Doing those extra hours in the gym to bulk your shoulders up seemed to pay off since crashing through the window was like breaking through a taught sheet of paper. There was a faint, "Dios Mio!" as rushing air flooded your ears. The pavement was coming at you fast, you had to think faster! Conveniently, the roof of a lower building was just a few rapid feet away. You had to reach. Grabbing onto the building's edge was murder on your arms and hands, but you made it. Using your feet, you managed to scurry up and over the edge, only to have a bullet barely miss your shoulder. You could have sworn you heard the material of your jacket tear from the impact. Thinking quickly, you managed to find cover behind the rooftop entrance. Either Widowmaker was there too, or Sombra was a better shot than you gave her credit. 

In your ear, you heard the voice of your right-hand man calling out to you. There was a pain of guilt, but you answered, "I'm here, I have the chip."

"Good!" they returned, gunfire still energetic in the background, "Go on ahead Boss, we'll keep these assholes busy for ya. Godspeed." Then there was static.

There was never an argument after 'Godspeed', that was the code that meant that all communication was off and the other side was likely facing a suicide situation. A lump formed in your throat. Every fiber of your being screamed that it was wrong and that you should go back for your people. A growl escaped your throat as the dilemma only infuriated you more. Your hand went to the gunshot wound that was leaking into your vision by now. It was a deep cut after all...which gave you a kind of gross idea. Given the fact that your options were remarkably scarce, it was the best idea you had to run with, after all, who but a medical examiner would look inside an open wound for a chip? With a quick shove, a sharp sting and the subtle sound of a sickening rip, the chip was tucked into your head wound. You almost didn't notice the thump on the rooftop you were kneeling on. Did Sombra follow you? You peer around your cover, only to look up in horror, the towering figure of Doomfist, glaring down knowingly at you. 

"Well. Shit," you breathed and tried to make another run for it. 

From your back, you unfold your portable rifle and leap toward the next building rather blindly. You just barely made it and you remembered to roll upon impact. You had to keep moving! You were just about to scale a fire escape when suddenly that massive, well-known hand of Doomfist's wrapped around you like King Kong to the iconic damsel. You watch helplessly as your weapon tumbles to the alley's floor below with a lonely and distant crack against the pavement. This was not good at all. That massive hand was so strong, it was as if you weighed nothing, you were a mere doll to Doomfist and you had a cold feeling in your stomach that he didn't like you very much to keep. He tossed you briefly in the air with a flick of his wrist, then snatched you out of midair once again only to look you in the eye.  
"I caught you, little mouse. Now give me the chip," Doomfist growled as his armored hand pressed against your ribs rather with only a fraction of his strength, but it still knocked the wind from your lungs, "Or be crushed into a paste."

It was hard to breathe, much less talk. You struggled strategically, trusting that your training can keep your head cool enough to prevent panic. With some amount of strain and slow movements, you manage to move your hands and arms though. You reached into your sleeve and pulled out a little green chip and held it between your index tip and thumbnail. This was your spare of course, in case you were far enough ahead of the enemy, you planned to leave a decoy. At least your backup plan seemed to come in handy, just not in the way you expected.

"Yes, that's a good little mouse," Doomfist may as well have been a satisfied lion, with his bare hand reaching out expectantly to receive a trade. 

The next moment would have been comical if it did not royally piss off your captor. Defiantly and rather quickly, your fingertips from either hand joined together and you snapped that microchip in half. Doomfist's eyes nearly bulged, "What have you done?" he growled at you, his grip was like a giant constrictor getting ready for a meal. 

"Looks like," you wheeze with a hoarse voice, "neither of us wins today." Feeling even more defiant, you risked a cheeky smile.

It was a miracle you did not vomit your own guts from such a grip. The excruciating crackling like sensation in your chest cavity was a possible sign that your end was near if nothing was done. However, that was the least of your worries. Once again you were in the air, only this time you were falling. A fire escape railing hit you squarely on the side, which made you flip uncontrollably, your head bashing into the same escape before clattering harshly amongst the trash cans. You were sure that rough landing had broken several important bones, including the ones surrounding your lungs. Retching from the pain, you felt fluid escape and drain along the corner of your mouth. If it was blood, you couldn't say as the agony of your injuries caused the world to grow black from the edges and spread inward. Soon, the pain had no meaning to you anymore, or so you thought.

After what might have felt like you just woke up from a very vivid dream, there was a heavy fog in your mind. In fact, everything felt heavy yet light at the same time, it was a rather bizarre sensation. The wall you were facing was sterile white, the floor was seafoam green and there was a distinct rhythm of beeps going off. Was that your alarm? Stiffly you turn your head, your vision was blurred something fierce, but you were able to make out that to your right was a sort of monitor like one would see in a TV drama. 

Hospital... 

You were in a hospital. How surreal this felt, or perhaps that was the authorized painkillers you were feeling. You tried to take a good breath in, only to cause yourself to tense up and cough pathetically as a sharp feeling takes you over. You realize there was a button mechanism that must have been placed in your hand; without thinking, your thumb twitches and pressed the little red nob. There was a brief sound of air pressure from the machinery next to you. You felt a cold rush of soothing relief all over your body as you were able to relax. 

As far as you know, you seemed alone.

Then again, your head felt so heavy, it was a wonder you were able to move it at all. Your eyes drifted closed again. Your ears managed to pick up muffled sounds of a deep voice with a certain dulcet tone to it that you could know from anywhere, distorted or not. Your eyes opened partially, perhaps you hallucinated the sound, you were being medicated after all and you felt exhausted. You heard the sounds again, they had an excited energy to them as if an argument or determined to push through something. With a dull click, you reasoned your door had opened. Soon the scent of a smokey cologne reached your nose. It smelt like liquid smoke with a touch of cigar tobacco and leather. There was no way you were dreaming, this caused you to lift your head despite how groggy you felt.  
Just as your eyes regained their usual focus, you saw a man of familiar build, his favorite orange and red sarape around his shoulders, his spurs jingling as he walked toward you. It was Jesse, worried but relieved, your favorite cowboy in all of Overwatch. You tried to grin up at him.  
Jesse had taken his hat off and placed it down at the foot of your bed, then pulled up a chair. "How you feelin' hun?" was his first question. You could sense his anxiousness, despite his usual mellow demeanor. It was so good to hear his voice, it was like listening to velvet.  
"Better than I thought I would feel," you admitted tiredly.`"Figured I was a goner."  
Jesse let out a sigh through his nose and his shoulders eased a little, yet that crease of concern remained, "For what it's worth, you probably look worse than you feel right now."

"I don't doubt it," you answered, "Thank God for morphine right?"

You share a brief and soft chuckle at your little joke. After a struggled cough, since your ribs were less than humorous at the time, you remembered something. The chip and its hiding place. You reached up with your left hand, which had the I.V. taped to it, and felt gauze and bandages wrapped around your head wound. "How bad was I really, do you know?" You asked Jesse.

The cowboy nodded, "The docs outside briefed me a bit. You sustained quite the beating; a couple broken ribs, a dislocated hip, concussion, fractured everything else. To be honest I was a little impressed that you survived at all. I was scared for the worst when I heard about what happened."

"How, how did you hear?"

"Winston filled me in on your mission, Mercy kept me updated on your health until I was in the area again. It had been a long week."

You blinked, "I was out for a week?"

McCree nodded solemnly, "Plus a day or two, but yeah. I just got back and the first thing I wanted to do was see you. Looks like good timing as usual." He grinned at you again and gripped your hand gently, his thumb softly rubbed across your knuckles.

You couldn’t help but feel warmed by his touch. Maybe it was the happy-juice pumping into you, but your head seemed rather light as if you could drift off to sleep at any time. “Cowboys always do... in the movies at least,” you just knew you had a dopey smirk on your face, but the standards of your facial expressions were pretty low at the moment. “Glad to know your timing is better.”

“You look pretty ragged,” Jesse cooed softly. “You get some rest. I’ll get you some jello or somethin’, what would you like?”

“Red,” you answered as the comfort level of the flat pillow behind your head seemed comfier and comfier.

You heard Jesse chuckle and shift to his feet, then it was off to dreamland.


	2. Recovery

Chapter Two: Recovery

The following day was a blur of various naps and the occasional gaze of a sleeping cowboy in a chair. Jesse must have been just as tired as you were. Now that you felt more awake, adjusted in your bed and played with the elevation a bit so you were officially sitting up. It wasn’t long until Dr. Ziegler stopped by your room. She did pause when she spied the snoozing cowboy in the corner, then grinned over at you warmly. 

“Good to see you awake, Commander,” the Doctor cradled a clipboard in her arms. 

It felt bittersweet at first, you knew she only meant to encourage you, but too much was sacrificed to get you to this point, “Thanks... Did you, uh,” you gestured toward the crown of your head, “notice something up there?”

Dr. Ziegler nodded and smiled, “Yes indeed. Grim, but clever. We found it as we scanned your body for internal injuries. The package was retrieved and cleaned. Dr. Winston had examined it and upgrades are being applied. Overwatch owes you a debt.” Her voice was courteous and gentle of course.

You nodded, but a bitter feeling settled in your stomach, “What about my team?” you mentioned cautiously.

There was a silence, which you expected and dreaded at the same time. Dr. Ziegler took in a slow breath and debated how to break the news to you, it was so plain on her face. Your team was dead, you just knew it; that bitter feeling went ice cold and you were crestfallen. 

Dr. Ziegler stepped up as if to console you as she placed a hand on the railing of your bedside. She sighed a little, “Lieutenant Johnson is undergoing physical therapy,” she dared to mention, “Mason is comatose for now. I’m afraid the rest of your team didn’t make it. I’m so sorry to say.”

You blinked and looked up at her, still surprised. Two out of five survived that horrible fiasco, it was still horrible that three lives were lost, but parts of your team still lived. There was a little hope in your heart as sorrow took hold of you, it was strange; a sense of relief and a swirling regret at the same time. Tears stung at your eyes as you let out a breath and leaned hard against your pillow, for a moment your eyes closed and your cheeks ran wet. 

“At least,” you managed to croak out, “at least those two made it. Mason has some hope.. Should’ve known Johnson was too st-stubborn to die,” a bitter chuckle escaped as well as a small sob. You lifted your hands to cover your face as you restrained your own breathing to keep the weeping under control. 

By this time, Jesse was stirring in his chair. The soft jingle of his spurs as he straightened and set his heels back on the floor, groggily murmuring, “Whaddaye miss?”

“Some distressed news, sorry to wake you, Jesse,” Dr. Ziegler answered for you. “I was telling the Commander about her team.” 

“Ah, I see,” Jesse had a somber tone. 

You felt his wide hand against your forearm and he stayed there until your trembling subsided. “I’m.. I’m okay,” you managed to breathe and lowered your hands to rub your cheeks dry as best you could. “Something good came out of it. I’m thankful. God, those other three.. I have to sit with their families when I’m out of here.” You were thinking out loud at this point.

Dr. Ziegler sighed softly, “You need therapy yourself, Commander,” she took a moment to look at your chart, “Your ribcage is on the mend still, as well as your legs and lower back. You will have to go through three months worth before being re-evaluated for duty.”

“Thr- Three m-months?” you stammered, “Really?”

The Doctor nodded deeply, “Afraid so. Tis the Doctor’s Orders.” 

“Wait,” you attempted to argue, “Don’t you have a staff that miraculously heals people on the field? For goodness sakes, ma-”

Dr. Ziegler raised one of her hands up, “My healing tech only helps with superficial wounds like gashes and holes; something tourniquets, stitches and gauze could do. Your wounds, however, are a little more severe. Broken bones and dislocated joints are just a little bit out of my beam’s range. Fractures, are mindable under my beams, sure. But you must meet me part way with your hip.”

You sigh. One more mission before going back to work was your long road to your recovery. “Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Dr. Ziegler shook her head a single time, “Nope. But, if you do well in physio, I can zap you the rest of the way to insure you are physically fit for duty. Of course, you must have a psych eval as well before returning to work.”

You nodded slowly, “Three months to get better, then you help top me off?”

Another nod from Dr. Ziegler, “Correct.”

A sigh escaped from you as Jesse admitted a low whistle, then he looked over in your direction when you exchanged glances. “My place is closer to the therapy center. You wanna crash there for a bit while you’re recoverin’?”

“Tempting,” you answered slowly. Logically Jesse had a point, since this whole Overwatch Center worked more like a massive apartment building connected to other buildings. Admittedly, you had wondered when Jesse would invite you to live with him, if only it were under better circumstances. Then again, you wondered if he ought to move in with you at the same time. “I guess it’d be easier on me if the distance was shorter. Do- do I need a wheelchair or a walker when I check out?” You looked back at Dr. Ziegler. 

Luckily, you were prescribed a handy structure that could be both for you when needed. The instructions were simple enough but very important to remember; do not sit with your legs crossed, do not bend at the waist more than 90 degrees, always keep your toes and knees pointed forward when sitting; and so on. Dr Ziegler handed you a little pamphlet to remind you of your instructions, to remind both yourself and Jesse what needed to be done on a daily basis until your third monthly appointment with the doctor.

The weeks were slow at first. You had the bed as Jesse took to the couch, because he was a gentleman. Though by the third night, you really had to twist his arm to sleep in the same room as you. Injury or not, it was a couple weeks before your week long coma, you wanted Jesse close to you damn it. Jesse also managed to get up every morning, make you breakfast and served it in bed as you carefully adjusted to sit up. He helped you to your walker and gently encouraged you to follow the prescribed routine regarding your hip. It was annoying that you were treated like a fragile piece of china ware, but you could hardly blame Jesse; if the roles were reversed, you’d likely have the same mind space. 

When Jesse had the time, he’d push your wheelchair to the therapy center himself. You would see the iconic faces of Overwatch pass you by, who always managed to at least nod in your direction. 

The first time you reported to physio, you saw Lieutenant Johnson, or Earl as you knew him, who was on the walking bars when you came in. You knew Mercy told you he was alive, but there was still a moment of surreal calm when you noticed him. You wondered if he was angry with you in some way. He looked up over at you, meanwhile Jesse was signing some papers on your behalf as you stared back. Earl smiled at you, overjoyed you were alive, he almost fell off the bars as his therapist caught him to keep him upright. 

“Boss!” Johnson called out with a big smile. “You made it!”

You turned in your wheelchair yourself and pushed your way towards your Lieutenant, “I’ll be damned. Dr. Ziegler told me you were in physio, but I am so happy to see you alive.” 

Johnson hobbled over to meet you with the help of a cane, his therapist close behind. “I heard what happened to you. You smuggled a chip under your scalp? That’s hardcore, boss.”

“Yes, well,” you marveled at his energy levels, “I had to think fast you know?” 

Lt. Johnson turned to his therapist and started babbling about how much of a badass you were, which the man in the white jacket nodded patiently and smiled. Clearly he had heard these tales before, which caused you to tilt your head a bit. You didn’t know Earl as a repeat storyteller. This caused an inkling of worry but perhaps it’s nothing; likely Earl took his pain meds before his session and he might be a touch loopy still. The therapist was delighted to meet you though, and shook your hand to be friendly. 

“What’s up, darlin’?” You heard Jesse say as he was on the approach. 

You looked up over your shoulder at him and felt the urge to smile, “Jesse McCree, this is Lt. Earl Johnson, my right hand on the stealth team. A sharp shooter, just like you.”

“Ah, w-well, I wouldn’t say ‘just’ like, but I’m pretty good,” Earl added.  
Jesse chuckled richly, “Is that so? I’d like to see you in the shooting range then, pardner, and see what you’re made of.”

“Oh I’ll vouch for what he’s made of,” you spoke up, “This guy stalled Reaper so I could get away with the payload. I owe my life to this soldier here.” Which was so automatic for you to say; being dropped from a multi-story building with only a metal fire escape to slow your descent didn’t do you any favors.

Jesse whistled low, “Steel cajones indeed. I owe you some thanks too then, Earl.” The cowboy extended his hand to Lt. Johnson, “I’d still like to see you shoot though.”

Earl laughed, his energy mellowing out, “Maybe. That completely depends if Dr. Ziegler deems me fit for duty or not. I’ll be going under a Psych-Eval soon too.”

“That sounds like fun,” you mentioned, perhaps sarcastically. “I wish you the best of luck, Earl.” Then you held out your hand to him from your seat. 

He reached and shook your hand firmly, “I see you’re about t’ start, Boss. I won’t keep you any longer. Good luck and take it easy.” You could tell he resisted a wink for Jesse’s sake, which you deemed wise of the Lieutenant. 

“You too, Earl. Take care,” you give him one last squeeze of your hand before Jesse helps you turn around and over toward your designated area. 

The therapy was hard and tedious, but oh so necessary. As it went on, you gritted your teeth to the point you thought they chipped at one point. You had to remind yourself not to push too hard through panting breaths. In boot camp, you pushed until you couldn’t stand anymore. In this center, you had to treat yourself a bit more gently. Session after session, ache after agonizing ache, by the second month it seemed a bit easier. 

On your third month, Jesse had to be sent away. He worried about you of course, the big softy. You assured him that things would be alright and hoped you’d be able to stand on your own two feet by the time he returned. You knew his assignments never left him enough time to call, so you had to be patient. At least you had two months of him pampering you as much as he could before he left, which spoiled you rotten it seemed. It was a bit of a struggle at first, but you were able to stand for a few moments and a time and managed doors okay. The trek to the therapy center was grueling, but you made it just the same. You didn’t see Earl much since last month and wondered if he passed his evaluation and is doing desk work until he was fully recovered. You were likely going to stare at a desk for a while until you were officially able to run without hurting yourself. As you understood, as long as there was no psychological damage and if you had cleared physio, Dr. Zeigler could mend your hip the rest of the way to a preferable state to ensure safety; you just needed to do most of the work.


End file.
